


The Pitch

by days4daisy



Category: Dark Matter (TV)
Genre: Blood, Chains, Gang Rape, Kidnapping, M/M, Rape as a show of power, Rape/Non-con Elements, Season/Series 03, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-21 08:17:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11353500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: “Yeah well, you’re not getting the blink drive. Have fun with that whole change of heart thing.”





	The Pitch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Themisto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themisto/gifts).



> Hi, Themisto. Hope you enjoy this treat! :)

Three comes to in a metal chair. He's in a room, nondescript gray walls and no windows. The cell is lit by two rows of panel lights. A metal table sits in front of him. He tries to move but regrets it. His head is definitely busted open. Blood dries stiff on his face.

Three gives his arms a cursory shake. They’re cuffed behind his back, chains connected to the shackles. The metal links snake under the table and connects to who knows where. “Damn it,” Three grumbles.

Three has no clue if anyone is standing on the other side of the cell door, but he takes his chances. “Must be nice to pay off mercs to fight your battles. You used to be better than that!” He doesn’t have to wait long. The door opens to admit the emperor himself.

Ryo dressed down for the occasion in a black t-shirt and pants. Reminds Three of Four before the guy got his memories back and decided he didn’t give a shit about his crew anymore.

Ryo sits across from Three at the table. His eyes have a glint to them. Amusement, pity? Three doesn’t like it, whatever it is. “Sending bounty hunters after the Raza used to be a joke," Ryo says. “You were too much for hired guns to handle. Things are different now.”

“Why don’t you take these cuffs off?” Three suggests, glaring. “I’ll show you how different things are.”

Ryo grins at the idea,. “Another time. First, the Raza is in possession of something that belongs to Zairon-”

“Something you stole from us first, you mean,” Three mutters. “Oh yeah, your idiot scientists? Screwed the thing up. Doesn’t even work anymore.”

The smile falls from Ryo’s face. "I hope you’re not expecting your crew to come for you.”

“ _My_ crew, huh?” Three shakes his head. “What the hell, man? I get it. Before the wipe, we were all scumbags. Some of us still are. But you...damn, your memories did one hell of a job on you.”

“ _Your crew_ ,” Ryo continues, “has the same problem you do. Sentimentality.” Three snorts. “They know if we so much as hear a blip on our radar screens, this?” He shows Three the sword sheathed at his side, “Will go through your neck.”

Three greets the threat with a sardonic smile. “Creative.”

“Your only chance,” Ryo adds, undeterred, “is to convince the Raza to return the blink drive to Zairon. If they return the blink drive, I will personally return you to your ship safe and sound.”

“Let’s say I tell you to take your offer and stick it up your ass. What then?”

Ryo smiles, small and dangerous. “In that case, I’ll oversee your change of heart instead.”

Three keeps his expression calm, mouth quirked in a lazy smirk. Underneath, he knows he’s in for a world of hurt. He's got to trust that the Raza will find some way to sneak past Zairon’s scanners. But until then...

Bracing himself, Three winks. “Yeah well, you’re not getting the blink drive. Have fun with that whole change of heart thing.”

Ryo’s mouth ticks higher. He lifts a hand.

A pair of guards enters the cell. They’re close to Ryo’s size in height and build. Black open robes, black pants, swords strapped to their waists. One has light skin and red hair. The other, dark skin and a shaved head. They stand behind Ryo, arms at their sides.

Ryo next smile is softer and strange. “I’m not just offering a chance to get back to the Raza-”

“Spare me,” Three mutters. “I don’t give a shit about Zairon or whatever manifest destiny crap you think you’ve got going on here.”

Ryo drums the table. “That wasn’t what I was going to say. But you bring up a good point.” He stretches arms out for emphasis. “Now that the old regime is no more, the throne of Ishida is stable. The blink drive will give us the advantage we need to win the war. You can be part of that.”

Three’s eyes narrow. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“My throne is no stranger to mercenaries, as you know. Bounty hunters, assassins, thieves; all necessary evils. I despise you.” Ryo leans over Three’s chair. “But I’ve seen the damage you can do, even if you’ve forgotten. The Raza has too many enemies and too few friends-”

Three raises a brow. “You're not seriously giving me the sales pitch.”

“One thing never changed about you, Marcus, even after you lost your memories. You know how to survive. It’s time for you to move on from the Raza. We will welcome you here on Zairon.”

Three rolls bored eyes. “You want me to work for you, is what you’re saying.”

Ryo shrugs. “Right now, you're taking misguided missions against stronger opponents for little to no reward. They _will_ kill you sooner or later. You’re not the fool people think you are-”

Three snorts. “Thanks.”

“You know how to stay alive, and you won’t stay alive on that ship,” Ryo tells him. “Deep down, you know I’m right. Tell me where the blink drive is, and freedom is yours. Think about it.”

Three smiles wryly. “Thought about it,” he replies. “No fucking way.”

Ryo sighs. His reaction is more tempered, as if Three’s unwillingness is a surprise this time. Or, at least, a disappointment. “Lock him down,” he says.

Ryo's guards unhook Three from his chair and shove him face down on the table. Three curses and fights. He succeeds in getting one of the guards off-balance, but the other butts his head with his sword’s hilt. Three hits the table hard, and his breath rushes out. His wrists are bound to the sides of the table. His legs are spread, body bent over the metal surface.

“I don’t enjoy this.” Three can’t see Ryo, but he hears his voice. Calm, smooth, circling the table to Three’s back.

“Oh yeah," Three grumbles, "you seem heartbroken.”

His words catch when the point of Ryo’s sword touches his back. In one smooth motion, the blade slices upward. It splits his shirt in two, broken black fabric droops down Three’s arms.

“You’re no good to Zairon dead,” Ryo says. “And I would prefer you join me of your own free will.”

“That ain’t happening, you two-timing bastard." Three cranes his head back to glare at Ryo. “Why the hell would I join someone who stabbed me in the back?”

“Self-preservation, I already told you.”

Three hears a snap, a lash striking air. He grits his teeth.

The first strike of the whip makes the breath whoosh out of Three. The skin of his back splits in a canal of red. Somehow, Three avoids making a sound. It's a small victory, but short-lived when a second whip snaps. Three groans against the table. His knees buckle.

The whips batter his shoulder blades, down the middle of his back, across the small. Lashes cross from the left and right, leaving x's of torn, bloody skin. Sweat trickles down Three's face. His eyes sting.

The sound of whips hitting skin cracks through the room. Blood dribbles down his back and embraces his ribs in threads of red. A puddle forms under Three's bare feet.

Three faces forward, resolute. He won't look at the blood, and he sure as he'll won't scream. His back is hot with pain, and his shackles cut into his wrists.

Ryo sits in front of Three. He presses his mouth against steepled hands and watches the whips rain down. Three musters all his hatred and glares at his old friend. If only he had Bubba here. All Three would need is one shot, set to kill...

His fury falters under the insistent rhythm of the lashes. Three grits his teeth, he won’t give the bastard the satisfaction. Black spots dance in front of his eyes, and his arms and legs start to go numb. Maybe the rest of him will too, damned high tolerance for pain. Three wants to black out, wants it to be over.

Ryo’s looks on with dark eyes like a scientist in a lab. After five minutes, or fifty, he lifts a hand. The whips immediately stop.

Three sags on the table and struggles to breathe. His exhales form circles of condensation on the table.

He grimaces when Ryo cards fingers through his sweat-damp hair. His hand walks down the back of Three’s neck next. It combs his spine, scrapes skin left bloody and gouged by the whip. Three groans when Ryo pushes into one of the lash scars. His vision swims, and his stomach flips nauseously

When Ryo circles back around the table, his hand is painted red with Three's blood. “There was a time when we used to make each other bleed for sport,” he says. “It kept us sharp to spar against each other.”

Three fights his own dizziness, musters a scowl. “Yeah well,” the words shake, “I’m having a ball. Thanks for the trip down memory lane.”

Ryo looks Three in the eyes. “If you pledge yourself to Zairon, I’m a man of my word. I’ll keep you safe, Marcus.”

“Your word?” Three rasps incredulously. He forces his head up. Ryo’s face is blurring around the edges like a faded transmission. “Fuck your word,” he spits. “And fuck you.” Three isn't letting this crazy bastard get the blink drive. He’s not giving up the crew either. Three tells himself he’s done a good job. It's going to hurt, but only for a bit. Then it'll all be over.

Ryo stands, and Three sucks in a breath. Makes sense, Ryo wants to do it himself. Big bad emperor, picking the last pieces off the bone. Three wonders if he’ll do it all at once. Will Ryo cut his head off, clean and easy? Or will he take it slow? Chop off a few limbs, strip his spine out.

He frowns when fingers settle in the small of his back. They push, drawing an ache and a grunt from the lash marks. Three sucks in a breath. An arm reaches around him. Fingers pinch the top button of his pants.

Confusion gives way to a dread when the hand on the small of his back slides between his legs. It traces Three's inside pant seam, then pulls the garment down to his ankles. His underwear follows. Three hisses. The cool air of the room blisters his skin in goosebumps. Three shudders on the table and cranes his head back.

Ryo wouldn’t do this. The guy’s off his damn rocker, but there’s no way he would do this.

Horror dawns on Three when Ryo returns to his seat. Two sets of feet settle behind Three. The guards stare at his body, chained up and presented like some goddamn sex show.

“You motherfucker,” Three gapes. “I don’t-”

“Yes, you do,” Ryo tells him. “You just don’t remember.”

Three’s mind and body reel. What doesn’t he remember? What the hell is Ryo talking about? He tugs at his chains, choking back a moan at the pain from his back. “You bastard,” Three hisses. “You _sick fucking bastard_ -”

He’s pinned down by two pairs of hands without warning. Three shouts unintelligible curses around the cloth forced into his mouth. He twists under the hands, screams in muted fury. His eyes blare with hatred at Ryo. It's useless, but Three still fights, he _has_ to. He uses all his energy to try to tear across the table. Three will break his own arms if he has to, he’ll rip them out of his goddamn shoulder sockets!

Something strikes him in the back of the head. A club, the hilt of a sword? The pain is sudden and sharp. Three crashes face-first into the desk with a muffled yelp. His vision blurs.

Three barely makes out Ryo saying, “Jog his memory. Take it slow.”

A hand slips between Three's thighs. Something pushes against his asshole, oiled up and strange. It’s a finger, and it’s inside him.

Three grunts his surprise. He tries to recoil but has nowhere to go. The touch doesn’t exactly hurt. It’s weird, and it's wrong. He doesn't want it, but it doesn't hurt. It should, though. Three's not into guys, he's never done this before. Even Two, on the kinkier side, never came at him with a strap-on. She tied him down, did all sorts of crazy things. Never this.

But...he has done this before, hasn’t he? It's like something from a dream he can't remember. His legs shudder at the violation of it, and the pleasure. The finger thrusts further in, stretching him. Three gasps against his will, revulsed by his own body twitching interest at the touch. Fresh goosebumps prickle his skin. A bead of sweat rolls down the back of his neck.

Ryo watches, a note of intrigue in his face. His mouth sits in an even line. His eyes never leave Three’s body. “Do you remember?” Ryo asks. Three doesn’t remember anything. He knows this isn’t new, but he doesn’t know why. Did Marcus Boone go for men? Did he do something with Ryo?

The finger withdraws. He’s oiled up a little, but...isn’t there supposed to be more? He doesn’t know how this should go, but it isn't enough. It can't be.

Ryo wouldn’t. As much as they hate each other, there’s no way.

“Begin,” Ryo says.

Something hard and foreign presses against Three’s asshole. Three locks up, a shout of dissent lost in his gag. The erection fucks into him in one go. It’s hard, and it stretches him out. He gasps around the fabric in his mouth. He tries to scramble up the table, but there’s nowhere he can go. Pain shoots up and down his body, makes him groan against the table.

The guard begins to move inside him. Hard, impersonal thrusts. A groan of pleasure at how tight Three must feel. Skin hitting skin. Three hacks behind his gag. Sweat trickles down his neck, salt in his open wounds on his back. Three feels strange, overfull. His legs wobble. Pain shoots through his arms, his back is burning.

“How is he?” Ryo asks.

“Good, emperor,” the guard says, a hitch of pleasure in his voice. Three jumps at the shock of their skin meeting and grunts behind the gag. Soreness bursts through his hips and pools in his stomach.

A bleary blink tells him that Ryo is smiling. “How does he feel?”

“Tight, emperor,” the guard answers.

Ryo eases back in his chair. He meets Three’s tear-wet eyes and offers a wry smile. “I’ll bet.”

Three thought he hated the guy before. He burns with it now. Four wasn’t just his crewmate. He was a goddamn _friend._  Up until now, Three missed him. He missed arguing, drinking, and fighting next to him. Three missed hanging out with Four in the mess or cleaning his guns while the guy worked on his sword form. Four was his friend, but he's gone now. When Three gets out of these chains, he’s going to blow Ryo Ishida’s head off. He’s going to rip him apart. Vent him out an airlock. He’s going to stab him with his own sword. Cut off the non-vital parts first before he gets to the good stuff. Three’s going to make it last. Three’s going to make him hurt.

The guard rams in harder, and Three yelps behind his muzzle. He squeezes his eyes shut. A pair of tears squeak out. The loss of blood has left Three cold, and the ache in his lower half is unbearable. The guard doesn't give a shit, keeps right on using him like a thing.

Something hot and wet sloshes inside Three. It takes a moment for him to realize the guy just came. He gags under the fabric, breaking out in a cold sweat. The guard pulls out, and Three shudders at the cum dribbling down his thighs. He’s dizzy with the violation of it, and his stomach churns. The color drains out of his face. It takes choking swallows to keep the bile down. He coughs, tears down his face. He's freezing and feverish at the same time, flushed and blistered with goosebumps. Three is hollowed out but can't alleviate the soreness without ripping his whip-torn back.

“Begin,” Ryo says abruptly. Three’s head shoots up.

He hears footsteps behind him. Feels the body, and something big pushed against his cum-slick hole.  Three tries to swallow down his panic, tries to relax. Three’s been tortured before. Not like this, but he’s been tortured. He can handle it. Deep breaths. It’s pain, and pain never lasts forever. It’ll either end, or it’ll kill him. Either way, it’s one second at a time. Take it one second at a time...

Three can’t remember being fucked before, but even he knows the second guard is a goddamn monster. The cock that shoves into his ass stretches Three wider than should be humanly possible. He’s not slick enough, even with the cum still wet inside him. Three moans weakly. He bows his head against the table. Scrubs his wet face against the metal.

There isn’t enough room in him, he can’t relax. The guard snaps his hips forward, and Three cries out into his muzzle. His knees start to buckle, pushing all his weight into his shoulders and arms. A second set of hands forces him upright. They make Three present his ass, proud and red, at the perfect angle. Three groans miserably. It's like he's being carved in half. Like he's being fucked straight through and the guy's cock will come out the other side. Thee's body thrums with pain. His hands ball into white-knuckled fists.

White spots swim before his eyes. Three’s starting to go numb. Finally, yes, he’s starting to go numb-

He’s forced back by a hand locked in his hair. Pain burns through Three's scalp, and his bleary eyes meet the glare of Ryo Ishida. “I’m not enjoying this,” he says. Three is too out of his mind to react. If he had his mouth free, he’d muster what little saliva he could to spit in Ryo's face.

The guard's shaft is too _big_. Three blinks back tears, swallows back nausea. Even his bones ache, stretched at this awkward angle for so long. The ache inside him is wet and hot. Is he bleeding?

The worst part is Ryo's hand still sifting through his hair. Soothing him like he’s some beaten mutt.

Or, it _was_ the worst part, until the guard reaches a hand under him. Finds his limp cock and yanks on it with dry fingers.

Three cracks; he _screams_ , twisting in his shackles. The sound of clashing metal echoes through the cell. He fights until the hand in his hair becomes a fist. His head is yanked up, and two others pin him down. Pain shoots through too many points on Three's body. The cock inside drives through him. He can feel it bulging in his abdomen. The dry hand tightens around his shaft, and Three moans. He’s going to be sick. He’s shaking and cold, throbbing like an open wound.

He chokes around the fabric in his mouth. His tongue tastes sour. The hands aren’t letting him move. His neck is forced higher, going where the fist in his hair tells him to. His scalp screams, his neck aches, and Three squeezes his eyes shut. It’s the only protest he has left, he’s not going to let Ryo see his eyes as the tears spill down his face. As the gag soaks through with saliva, spit dribbling down his chin.

He’s not going to let Ryo see the moment when he breaks. When the hand fucking his flaccid cock makes the fight die in him. When he stops feeling human, starts feeling like a...like nothing. He feels like nothing. The pain washes over him, wave after wave, and his groans die out. Rasping, ragged breaths are only sign he’s still alive.

Finally, mercifully, he feels the hot spurts of release inside him. A whimper hitches in Three’s throat when the guard withdraws. Something is wrong between his legs. Something white-hot and _wrong_ , pulsing worse than the rest of him. The fist in his hair relaxes into a gentle stroke.

Relief shivers through Three when the two guards are no longer behind him, they’re at Ryo’s side. Robes open, cocks half-hard and out. One, Three notes miserably, is dressed in blood and semen. “Dress yourselves,” Ryo tells them. “Get out.”

The guards are quick to obey, shifts of fabric and door opened and closed in under one minute. They are left alone, the sound of Three’s breaths shivering through the room. Ryo’s hand sifts through his hair, and against Three’s will the touch feels good. It’s something that isn’t pain. It’s something human, when everything else is one raw nerve of anguish.

Three coughs when the gag is eased from his mouth. Spit shines on his lips. Three opens and closes his mouth, winces at the soreness stiff in his jaw.

“You still don’t remember, do you?” Ryo murmurs.

Three doesn’t want to talk or listen. He wants to pass out. Anyone else would be out by now! He forces himself to speak. “Remember what?”

“This isn’t the first time I gave you a choice.” Ryo hooks a thumb and forefinger on Three’s jaw and wrenches his head up. Three hisses in protest. “I wanted you to join Zairon." Ryo's eyes narrow. "I wanted you to join me.”

“Can’t imagine why I said no,” Three rasps. “Not like you’re...batshit crazy or anything…”

Ryo holds his face and his gaze. His eyes are serious, mouth set in a firm line. “Help me get the blink drive.”

Three puts as much strength into his words as he has left in his body. “Go to hell,” he hisses.

Ryo’s expression tenses with anger. He lets go of Three’s face and stands. Three doesn’t know if he made the right choice, but he can’t let himself think about that now. He’s not turning on the crew. He’s not betraying the Raza like Ryo did. Three will die first. And, from the looks of things, that's the way he's headed. One sword through the back coming right up, literally this time. Hell, Three was already left for dead once by Ryo Ishida when that bomb went off. Time for Ryo to finish the job.

But there’s no sword. There’s the scuffing of shoes and the sound of a zipper being undone. Something slick and wet working in a fist.

What little bravado Three mustered crumbles when Ryo shoves his thighs apart. He gasps; blood and semen leak down his legs. Three's back is a mess of bloody stripes and bruises. His asshole, stretched wide and wet from two cocks. When Ryo's shaft pushes up on Three, he recoils so hard he almost rips his arms out of their sockets. “Don’t,” he rasps. “Four, _don’t_.”

“I’m not Four,” Ryo tells him. He pushes inside.

Delirious, Three wonders if he’s supposed to thank Ryo for lubing himself first. It doesn’t do any good. As loose as Three is, he’s been over-stretched and wrecked. “ _Shit!_ ” gasps out of him, high pitched and cracking. Ryo isn’t as big as the man before him, but he’s all speed and strength. He goes hard and fast, and Three’s legs wobble. He hisses, tries to force his legs together, protect his already injured body. His back screams in pain, anguish shuddering down his legs. Three moans, he can't catch his breath. His heart is pounding. Fresh tears spill over, wetting skin already streaked with salt and blood.

“You still don’t remember,” Ryo murmurs. “You used to beg for this.” There’s a catch of something in his voice. His hand curls over Three’s side. When he drives forward, pain explodes through Three like a missile.

Three shakes his head because he can’t make himself talk. His world is spinning. He can’t breathe. Everything hurts. He’s cold and ripped raw. He can’t feel, and he feels too much.

“I gave you what you wanted." Ryo's words drag with effort. "Every time.” His hips snap forward. Three moans and writhes, his chains rattling angrily. “But when I asked you for help, you betrayed me. I gave you the chance to stand with me. I gave you so many chances.”

“I don’t…” Three grimaces, scrambles for words. “I don’t fucking _remember_! I can’t - Four-” At the lapse, Ryo fucks him harder, skin smacking skin. Three’s voice breaks in a hiss.

“That isn’t my name,” Ryo tells him.

Then, he drags his hands down Three’s back. Full palms. Curled fingers. Nails across split skin. Three screams, he can't help it. Fresh blood spills down his back. Fire shoots down Three’s spine, spirals into every inch of him. His legs sag, his arms stretch. He groans, gags, black spots bursting like fireworks in his eyes. Ryo grabs his waist with bruising hands. He forces Three upright. Three can’t defend himself, he can’t even muster a curse. He lies across the table and lets himself be used. His own breaths are loud in his ears. He closes his eyes, prays for it to end.

It does, sometime. Three swims in and out of consciousness. Ryo makes it last.

His orgasm spills hot inside Three. Three's nausea is overwhelmed by the ache in his body. Ryo comes with a grunt and a shudder. He withdraws just as impersonally.

Three hangs from his arm shackles, his knees buckling. Fresh wetness leaks down his legs. Three’s closed eyes burn. He sucks in a breath at the thumb that rubs under his lashes. Tears are smeared across his face.

First, his right wrist shackle is undone, then the left. Without the chains to hold him upright, Three crashes to the floor. He whimpers when his kneecaps hit. He doesn’t know how bad the damage is between his legs, but it’s a lot. He can’t sit back, can’t move. Everything hurts. But with his arms free, at least he can try to protect himself. Three tucks his head against his chest and pulls his scraped knees up. He shudders on the blood-stained concrete. His heart rabbits in his chest.

Three didn’t give up the crew. Two, Five, and Six are safe. Three didn’t give them up. They’re ok, and they still have the blink drive. Nothing matters except that.

“Enter,” Ryo murmurs.

Three pales when the cell door opens and two new guards step into the cell. He scrambles as far as the chains on his ankles will let him go, panic rising to full-out desperation. He's too weak to get up on his hands and knees. His arms collapse under him, and he writhes in a frenzy. Pain screams through his body. Fresh blood shivers down his back.

He tries to shrink from the footsteps approaching him, tries at least to cover himself in arms and legs. Three can’t even think of pride anymore. He’s so out of his head, when Ryo strokes his hair he starts to shiver and can’t stop. Three is hyperventilating. He’s choking, coughing, gulping for air. His heart is beating too fast. His head is spinning, but he can’t. He can’t do it again. He _can’t_ but this bastard doesn’t give a shit about him.

This is Ryo Ishida, not Four. Four is dead.

He’s still shuddering as Ryo smears his hair back from his sweat-laced forehead. Three hears him sigh. “Clean him up," Ryo says. "I want him under 24-hour patrol.” He’s affirmed by a chorus of, ‘Yes, emperor.’

Three's chin is forced upward. His vision blurs, and he can barely make out Ryo’s face. A strange crease folds between his brows. “I told you to join me,” Ryo murmurs. Then, he stalks to the door. “No one touches him unless I say,” he orders.

The door slams shut before the guards finish parroting their agreement. Three folds like a broken card deck. Maybe he finally loses consciousness, or he’s too overstuffed with sensation to process any more. Too many thoughts, too much pain.

His mind finally, mercifully, lets him forget what happens next.

* The End *


End file.
